


That's the sound (that's the sound)

by ironicallyinternational



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Boys Being Boys, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Vaguely Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicallyinternational/pseuds/ironicallyinternational
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Scott have been through a lot of shit, and things have been kind of forced (cautious) ever since the Thing. Stiles figures he should've known it would only take an embarrassing, emotional panic attack on his behalf for things to go back to normal.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>"His brain is still scrambled, but knowing Scott has been absorbed into his body's reflexes so deeply that he hugs back without even thinking, fingers gripping on so tight his knuckles turn white, holding on with all the nervous energy he can muster.</p>
<p>He opens his mouth, tries to tell Scott what's in his head, but his voice is muffled and language isn't translating his thoughts properly.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's the sound (that's the sound)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm barely in the Teen Wolf fandom, but I love Stiles Stilinski perhaps more than any other fictional character, and as a consequence of loving Stiles I of course have to love Scott too. I've been following the two of them through the seasons, and honestly, I. They're just incredibly important to me, and I would straight up kill a bitch (Theo) for what they're currently going through.
> 
> Either way, this story is set somewhere in the hopefully near future, sometime after a reconciliation.
> 
> It's written mostly platonically, but as someone who ships Scott and Stiles, I really don't mind if it's seen otherwise.
> 
> Anyways: enjoy!

Stiles is sobbing when he wakes up, fear and guilt and desperation gripping him so tightly he can't breathe.

He hates sleeping, these days, because sleeping brings nightmares. 

There's only so long you can stay awake, though. Even Stiles, with his dark, dark bags and red-rimmed, burning eyes, can't conquer his body completely.

Still, when he wakes up, there's no coherent thought to be found.

He's been through so much fucked up shit he doesn't even know what it is that's bringing him to terrified tears this time. 

Stiles is disoriented, petrified with agonising fear, shaking like a leaf; he stands up on fragile legs with tears streaming down his face and calls out "Dad?" in a voice that wobbles too much to be heard.

He stumbles out of the room, groping blindly down the hall, still calling.

"Dad! Dad! Dad, please! Where are you?"

He's so scared, so so scared, and he needs his father there, he needs him now, and he doesn't understand-

Somewhere beneath the hysteria, he dimly remembers his father is serving the night shift tonight.

Stiles takes a gulp of air, trying to calm down. All he manages to do is think "I need-" before his heart clenches again, clouding his mind with frantic urgency.

Stiles sprints out of the house dazedly, falling over his own feet, still in tears.

It's there, it's chasing him, he's not safe, he needs to get away, he needs to run, oh god-

 

 

He knocks on the door, hard, spastic, non-stop knocks that go on and on as Stiles shakes and sobs some more, alone and always alone with the Bad still after him.

Scott wrenches the door open, sleepy and exhausted, with ruffled hair and half-lidded, bewildered eyes.

The moment he lays eyes on Stiles, his entire demeanour changes, and he's suddenly wide awake, eyes flashing bright for a split-second as his shoulders square and his gaze sweeps their surroundings.

"Stiles? What's wrong, what is it?"

Stiles can't answer, because he's staring at Scott and his brain trying very hard to understand what's going on. 

Scott is Safe, but Stiles isn't safe right now, and, and-

"Scott-" Stiles tries, before his voice turns too shaky to use.

"Scott-" He tries again, hands flitting uselessly forwards, even as his eyes focus on every little detail of Scott's expression, trying to communicate something with his own.

Something changes in Scott's manner, like he's relieved- no new attack or threat has appeared just then. It’s still taut, though, frown digging deep between his eyes.

"Hey, man. It's okay, C'mon."

Stiles makes a whimpering noise, confused, and Scott now looks like he's about to cry.

"Stiles-" Scott begins, and then just reaches forwards slowly to tug him inside, closing the door behind him.

Stiles shivers.   
Scott gives up on words too. 

Next thing he knows, he has his face buried in Scott's shoulder and he's being held tightly. 

His brain is still scrambled, but knowing Scott has been absorbed into his body's reflexes so deep that he hugs back without even thinking, fingers gripping on so tight his knuckles turn white, holding on with all the nervous energy he can muster.

He opens his mouth, tries to tell Scott what's in his head, but his voice is muffled and language isn't translating his thoughts properly.

"Scott, I'm scared, fuck, please, don't let them take me, Scotty, please, please, I can't think anymore, Scott-" Stiles babbles, voice breaking on the last few words, and Scott's grip tightens even more.

He's trembling slightly, Stiles notices, with a barely contained something. 

"I've got you, Stiles. You- they won't get you, all right?" Scott promises, voice equally shaky, but words firm. Scott never breaks his promises, not to Stiles, so that has to mean Stiles is safe here, right?

"Okay." Stiles says, trusting Scott, using him as a rock. "Okay."

They stand there for what seems like eons, until Stiles' breaths finally slow, and his panic recedes, and his thoughts start making sense again (as much sense as they can, anyway).

Then Stiles is mortified, because he's so fucking weak, and whatever, like, Scott's been through enough bullshit, he's not supposed to worry about Stiles even more than he already does, god.

Scott senses him stiffen, or maybe just uses his freaky werewolf powers, because his grip loosens and he pulls back.

Stiles can't look at him.

"Sorry." he croaks out, eyes on Scott's bare feet, face wet and hands still full of tremors dropping to his sides.

Scott shifts.

"For what?"

He sounds utterly bewildered, so Stiles looks up, slightly, his eyes red-rimmed and too bright, biting his lip so hard it starts to bleed.

Scott's eyes immediately jump to the blood.

"Sorry." Stiles says, again, automatically. Things are always his fault. And then: "For bothering you. And waking you up. And probably giving you a mild heart attack. And crying all over your shirt. And acting like a fucking idiot."

Scott's expression morphs, and he looks like he's been punched in the stomach.

"Stiles, you- you don't have to apologise!" Scott starts, eyes pleading, hands reaching out to grip Stiles' shoulders. "You- I mean- we- you're not bothering me, don't be fucking ridiculous- and you're not being an idiot, dumbass, what are you talking about?"

"Sorry." Stiles repeats, for lack of better things to say.

Now Scott really looks like he's been punched.

"No, don't- aw, fuck, fuck, fuck-" 

He makes a choked noise, and then his hands drop from Stiles' shoulders and fly up to rub at his eyes.

"Scott?" Stiles goes, alarmed.

"Shit, Stiles, don't be like this, please." Scott says, and he sounds fragile and upset and Stiles feels so guilty- "You're not the- this is my fault, okay? None of this fucking- so many people would be alive if it wasn't for me, Stiles, it's not-"

"No," Stiles says, mechanically, horrified. "No. Stop. Bad."

"You don't understand!" Scott shouts, his hands falling away, his eyes wet. "I never wanted this! I never wanted any of you to- I never wanted you to be like this, Stiles, you're my best friend and I ruined your life! I didn’t even trust you when- It’s me, okay? Me!“

Stiles stares at him with wide eyes, silent, reeling with shock. Scott's got it wrong, all wrong, so wrong, doesn't he understand that he's the only blameless one in this whole mess-

For one moment, suddenly, everything is overwhelmingly clear.

The jumbled thoughts in Stiles' brain shuts up.

"It's not your fault, Scott." he says, quiet, and Scott looks at him with the same devastating look he had in the rain with a smoking red flare in his hand. "And it- it's. It's probably not all my fault either." The words taste like lies, bitter, but he pushes on. "It's neither of our faults, okay, it's bigger than any of us. It's not- we're not the ones to blame. Scott, listen to me, it's not-"

Scott is taking shaky breaths.

Stiles thinks, fine, and does something stupid.

"If it's all your fault, then it's all my fault too."

Scott stares at him, and immediately goes: "But it's not your fault."

"Then it's not yours either." Stiles points out.

Neither of them really believes the other, of course, but neither of them wants to blame the other, and their protectiveness apparently outweighs their self-martyrdom, because Stiles feels a little part of himself sigh in relief, and breathes more easily.

They stand there quietly, looking at each other. It is two thirty in the morning.

"You won't leave, right?" Stiles asks, and is surprised by how young he sounds.

Scott bristles all over, and his eyes gleam- now, Stiles recognises his earlier emotion as pure and terrifying rage.

He almost takes a step back, but doesn't. 

Scott sees it, though, and immediately sags, eyes frightened and apologetic.

"I would never," he says, urgently. "Ever, leave you, Stiles.”

Painfully sincere guilt flashes through his expression, and he spits out: “Never again.”

Stiles understands, then, that Scott is not angry at him. Scott probably never is. Scott is angry at everyone else, for hurting the ones he loves. Scott is angry at himself.

For hurting Stiles.

"Right." Stiles says, a bit stiffly, because he's scared he'll start crying again. "Me neither."

Scott blinks, and gives him a tired flicker of a smile.

"So." Stiles says, rocking back on his heels.

And then, without meaning to, because that's how Stiles says most of the important things in his life: "I love you, you know that, right?"

He knows Scott knows. Everyone knows. They're Scott and Stiles. They've been ScottandStiles since they were tiny little children.

But he wants to say it. Just in case.

Scott looks taken aback, and his eyes go a little wide. Stiles fidgets.

And then Scott smiles, sheepishly, and his eyes go soft, and Stiles suddenly feels his cheeks heating up out of sheer embarrassment, because Scott is so overwhelmingly fond of him.

"Yeah," Scott says, softly, with a crooked smile that is very tired and so much more real than any smile Stiles has seen in the past few months. "I know. Me too."

Stiles flushes, clears his throat. He forgets sometimes that Scott sees Stiles like Stiles sees Scott (which should be completely impossible, of course, but in moments like these feels very very probable).

"You can sleep here if you want." Scott says, almost amused. Stiles shoots him a half-hearted glare.

"Can I text my dad? I didn't bring my phone. I don't want him to think..."

Scott's expression darkens, but he nods, and Stiles follows him upstairs in the dark, almost blindly. He knows the place by heart, anyway.

 

 

Scott's sitting on his bed, watching him, when he's made sure his dad will know it's okay.

"I can take the couch?" Stiles tries. 

"Shut up." Scott snorts, leaning over to yank him closer.

They both clamber into the bed, kicking each other in fits of maturity, until they're finally lying next to each other, covered by Scott's comfortable quilt, staring up at the ceiling.

"Thanks." Stiles says, prodding Scott's ankle with his toe.

He feels Scott shrug next to him. "No problem."

Stiles is tired, now. Bone-deep. His eyes close for an instant.

Scott stirs next to him, rustling under the blanket. "You don't have your pillow."

Stiles cracks an eye open, tilts his head. Scott looks concerned.

"'S all-right. 'M used to sleeping badly anyway." Stiles says, which is true. Even though he probably won't sleep for shit now.

Scott frowns, and then his eyes light up and his mouth twitches in a way that makes Stiles freeze apprehensively.

He recognises that look from years ago; the one that meant that Scott had come up with a Stiles plan, and meant for sure they would get in deep trouble, but would be totally worth it.

This look isn't quite as mischievous, but it's close enough to make Stiles worried for his ego.

"Actually," Scott says, innocently (in that bullshit fake innocent way of his that fooled everyone into thinking that Stiles was the one corrupting him), "I may have a replacement."

"Oh?" Stiles goes, cautious as fuck.

Scott beams at him, and then before he can jump out of the window and escape, there's a flash of movement. 

The next thing he knows, without having any recollection of how he got there, his head is resting on Scott's shoulder, buried in his chest, and Scott's arm is holding him down.

Stiles splutters, absolutely outraged, and squirms and kicks and maybe even tries to bite (he gets growled at for that, which sends unwanted chills down his spine, so he stops), but Scott, damn him, has literally no scruples in using his fucking werewolf powers to torture his own best friend.

Stiles says that last part aloud, muffled, in a very annoyed and very plaintive tone of voice, and Scott, the dickhead, just laughs.

After a while, Stiles is too tired to try to escape, and surrenders. (Besides, he's not really all that motivated to try.)

"You suck." he tells Scott's chest, firmly.

"Night, Stiles." Scott says, very pleasantly.

Stiles kicks him in the shin, and grins when Scott jerks in surprise.

His victory lessens when Scott decides this calls for him being held even more closely. 

"I hate you." Stiles mutters, voice distorted by Scott's t-shirt, even as he nestles himself more comfortably into his best friend.

"Of course you do." Scott yawns, and pulls the quilt over them with his free arm.

Stiles has a brilliant reply to that, he really does, but he's too busy yawning to say it.

 

He wakes up disoriented the next morning, both by the strange bed and the daylight he can feel shining over him.

It takes him a moment to realise that the thing he's currently tangled up in is Scott, and then everything else makes sense, so his pulse drops down again.

But there's still the unexplained daylight. 

Stiles screws his eyes open unwillingly, blinking against the glaring sunlight, and finds the curtains wide open.

He frowns, uncomprehending, shifts a bit to look around, and catches sight of Melissa watching him with a very amused look.

Stiles yelps and would have jerked upright if it weren't for Scott's vice-like grip around his middle. 

"Good morning." Melissa says, tone lightly teasing.

Stiles looks down at himself and Scott, and then his eyes shoot wide open, because their legs are tangled and Scott's holding on to Stiles' waist and Stiles is fairly sure he was holding on to Scott as well and if she'd been here a while it must have looked like-

His cheeks scarlet, Stiles stutters out a: "It's not what it looks like, Mrs McCall, I swear-"

Melissa laughs, and Stiles's babbling stops. "Calm down, Stiles, I know."

Stiles blinks at her. "Oh."

"For one, you're both fully dressed." Melissa points out, and Stiles' cheeks flare up again. "For another, it's you and Scott."

Stiles suddenly feels very small and very important, gazing at her like he used to when he was still a kid.

"Yeah." he breathes out, eyes flicking down to Scott's sleeping form. "It is."

Melissa is smiling down at Scott when he looks back at her, and then she looks up and smiles at him just the same. Stiles' heart clenches painfully.

"Sorry for disturbing your household." 

She waves his concerns away. "You didn't disturb anything. I should be thanking you, actually, been a while since Scott's had a good night sleep."

Stiles smiles, sheepishly, ducking his head. "You're welcome, I guess."

"Your dad came by earlier," Melissa says then, and Stiles's head shoots up in alarmed worry, before she continues: "He was just checking in. Told me to tell you he'd see you in the evening."

"In the evening?" Stiles frowns, confused.

Melissa points at the alarm clock by Scott's bedside.

13.05.

Stiles gapes. He can't remember the last time he slept even remotely that long, without even mentioning the nightmares.

"Holy shit. Uh, I mean- sorry, Mrs McCall."

"No worries, Stiles. I think we've both seen enough recently that swearing won't upset me." Melissa sighs, before giving him a fond look. "Now, if you can wake up my son, I'll make us waffles."

"Waffles?" Stiles says, and sounds so eager he kind of understands why Melissa bursts out laughing.

When she's calmed down, Stiles promises: "I'll get him up."

Melissa raises a brow. "Good luck with that. I swear he's gotten worse since he turned."

Stiles gives her a cocky grin, like he used to, and assures her: "Oh, don't worry, Mrs McCall, I have my ways."

She shakes her head, snorting, and then with a glint in her eyes that really should have warned him, says: "I really don't want to know, Stiles."

Stiles' jaw drops, and she's already out of the room by the time he shrieks a traumatised "Mrs McCall!" after her.

He's still sputtering incoherently when Scott stirs, mumbling something lazy against his hipbone.

"Scott?" Stiles says, prodding his cheek.

"What're you screaming ab't?" Scott manages, or something like it (it sounds more like "whadduscreambout", but Stiles can translate).

Stiles goes "uuhhhhhhh" and turns red, which is apparently enough for Scott to lift his head to look up at him and raise a brow.

"Did my mom make a sex joke? Please tell me my mom didn't make a sex joke." Scott manages, cheeks tinted pink and eyes glazed, looking the very image of well-rested and sleepy.

"Your mom made a sex joke." Stiles confirms, and watches Scott's brain go from half-asleep to mortified.

"Euughh." Scott groans, letting his head drop back dow. "I'm so so sorry."

"It's cool." Stiles says, fighting the urge to ruffle his tousled hair. "She promised me waffles if I woke you up."

Scott makes a hopeful noise, clutching Stiles more tightly where his arm is still draped across his waist, before using him as leverage to pull himself up. In the process, of course, he pulls Stiles down, so they end up knocking their heads together.

"Ow, fuck!" Stiles whines, rubbing his head. Werewolf skulls are hard.

"Sorry," Scott says, apologetically and not hurt at all.

Stiles pulls a face at him. "Still not as bad as waking up with your mom staring at us and you clinging to me like a fucking leech, asshat."

Scott grimaces, and then looks faintly embarrassed. "Sorry about that, too."

"Whatever," Stiles huffs, sitting straighter and stretching. "It's not like I didn't know about the aggressive cuddling."

"What aggressive cuddling?" Scott protests. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Stiles gives him a Lydia look. "Scott, literally everyone knows at a first glance that you're an aggressive cuddler. Evil werewolf clans see you, and the first thing they think is "wow, i bet that guy is hardcore into cuddling". Stop lying to yourself an accept it."

Scott snickers at that, yawning, before giving Stiles a grin. "Well, I don't recall being kicked away, so what does that say about you?"

Stiles gives him a haughty scoff. "Uh, please, I struggled with all my might. This was against my will."

"Sure." Scott says. "Whatever you say, buddy."

"Shut up." Stiles answers, and punches him in the shoulder, which probably hurts him more than Scott. He still goes "ow" though, which Stiles is grateful for.

Then he goes "holy shit. it's one thirty?" and Stiles laughs and laughs and laughs and Scott doesn't get why he's laughing but still laughs along.

 

 

When they finally arrive downstairs, dressed and ready, Melissa is waiting for them at the table with a plate of waffles.

"Did you two even brush your hair?" 

"I did, but then someone decided to mess it up for me." Stiles announces, jabbing Scott in the ribs.

"It messes itself up." Scott declares innocently, jabbing him back.

Stiles stumbles and almost falls over, and Scott goes "shit!" and grabs him.

They stare at each other.

"Did you just forget you were a werewolf?" Stiles says, accusingly.

"I most definitely did not." Scott lies in return.

"You forgot you were a werewolf." Stiles repeats, lips twitching.

"Stop talking." Scott says.

"Boys!" Melissa says, and Scott lets go off Stiles' arm so they can both dash to grab a chair and sit down.

She serves them each a waffle, watching them fidget.

"Sleep well?" 

She's asking Scott, so Stiles smirks in contented vengeance as he bites into his waffle and watches his best friend cough.

"Yeah, thanks, mom. You?"

"Very." Melissa answers, complacently, before continuing: "You know, if it helps, we can always get you a body pillow-"

"MOM!" Scott groans, burying his face in his hands, as Stiles chokes on his waffle with laughter.

And then Stiles actually starts choking, but he can't stop laughing, so he just does a weird mix of both until he somehow gets hiccups.

His hiccuping laughter makes Scott forget to be embarrassed, so in the end they end up all three doubled over, in tears, with Stiles' hiccups setting them off every time they try to stop.

In the end, Stiles' dad stops by early to come and see him, and he walks in on them still cackling like crazy.

They freeze for a moment, with Stiles and Scott's cheeks flushed with laughter, and tears streaming down Melissa's cheeks. The Sheriff raises a brow.

Stiles hiccups.

(Later, when they've finally managed to calm down, and the parents are having coffee whilst Stiles and Scott sit crammed next to each other on sofa playing Mario Kart, studiously ignoring the deeply relieved and sad looks the older couple is shooting them, Stiles feels a little lighter than he has in years, and thinks that maybe some of the darkness around his heart isn't all that permanent.)

 

 

He and Scott are practically glued together for the rest of the week, full of sarcasm and smiles, respectively (although admittedly when Scott and Stiles are in one of these moods, Scott is a lot more sarcastic, and Stiles smiles a lot more). 

It makes a difference, really, because the whole pack's mood lightens, and if Lydia keeps shooting him knowing smiles, at least they're not sad ones.

Still, everyone has a question on their mind, and Stiles has a joke on his, but he waits patiently for an opportunity.

 

Two weeks later, Derek and Isaac are both in town for very different reasons. Isaac's tracking some Bullshit Supernatural Thing (TM), and Derek, bless his soul, is here to say hi.

(Stiles wonders what Derek would've done if he'd told him near the start that he'd be dropping by just because he missed Stiles and Scott one day. Probably punched him.)

Still, it's the chance he's been waiting for.

Derek and Isaac notice the good mood, too, with slightly obvious relief, and Stiles watches in smug contentment as the two immediately look to him and Scott.

He bides his time, waiting, almost prowling. 

Scott can tell, because he has that look in his eye that he gets when Stiles is about to win epically at life and he's ready to enjoy it.

And then, it happens.

"You guys seem better off than I thought you'd be." Isaac spouts randomly, blunt as always.

"Yeah." Lydia agrees, eyes flickering over to Scott and Stiles. "Infectious good moods, and all that."

Time freezes. Stiles watches everything fall in position. 

Malia is rocking back on her chair. Derek is taking a gulp of coffee. Kira is carrying a jar to the table.

Stiles clears his throat. Nudges Scott. And then, loudly, distinctly, says: "See? Told you we should sleep together more often."

Beautiful chaos unfolds.

Derek spits his coffee out all over Isaac, who's swearing so loudly and colourfully that Stiles doesn't know if it's about the burning coffee or the statement. Malia falls off the chair, landing on Kira's foot, who lets the jar crash onto the floor. Lydia lets out an honest-to-god cackle, throwing her head back. 

Stiles grins viciously, victoriously, lets his eyes roam over the room until they finally rest on Scott.

Scott, who for the first time since Theo, since Allison, since the bite even, has a pure and unbridled expression of brightness on his face, his eyes shining and his teeth biting down hard on his lip in an attempt not to burst out laughing.

Scott, whose eyes survey this orchestrated disaster, whose shoulders shake with quiet mirth, who finally turns to face Stiles, looking just like the Scott he knew he would stay with forever, and who meets his eyes for a moment, making the rest of the world seem dreadfully unimportant.

"Maybe we should." Scott says innocently, holding it in, and then surrenders and starts laughing, and Stiles follows, and when Scott practically howls, folded in half, Stiles feels half-high with power and giddy ecstasy.

It won't always be this easy, but.

It'll be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> That did a 180 from sad and heavy to constant fluff (ugh, I hate the word fluff), but still. I hope I did a good job of writing the characters- as aforementioned, I'm technically not even in the TW fandom. 
> 
> Comments are much appreciated, and you can find me at quidfree on tumblr!
> 
> (I'll be publishing another fic very soon, as it's almost completed, so keep your eyes open for that if you liked this one!)


End file.
